


Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Peace

by AnonymousJedi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock has a revelation, Wedding Fluff, change of plans, soft sherlock?, upholding traditions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-05-07 15:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousJedi/pseuds/AnonymousJedi
Summary: It's Molly's wedding day and Sherlock suddenly finds himself having mixed feelings about her marrying Tom. Will he speak up at the last minute, or will he stand by and watch her happy ending play out without him? Just some good ol' fluff, angst and romance between our favorite consulting detective and pathologist :)





	1. Chapter 1

It was a drizzly Sunday morning in London. Water was coming down in feather-light sprinkles as scattered rays of sunlight managed to squeeze through the tiny irregular crevices between the dark clouds that quilted the sky.

Sherlock sits in his chair with a cup of tea, as ever, gazing out the window absently. His mind had wandered far, far away and it's only the sound of John's voice, muffled at first, which slowly draws him back to reality.

"Sherlock! Are you listening? Have you heard a single word I've said?"

"Hmm?" the detective mutters distractedly. "No, of course I wasn't listening. I was thinking. Now, what is it that you wanted?"

"The wedding, Sherlock. We need to leave in half an hour and you haven't so much as showered."

"Oh that? I'm not going," Sherlock informs him matter-of-factly, setting his cup and saucer down on the table beside him.

John's jaw drops open in disbelief. "I'm sorry, what?!" he exclaims, rejecting the statement outright. "No, Sherlock. This is not the time for you to be brooding and moody. Today is Molly's big day, and we are going to be there for her, just as she is always there for us. Now get your deplorable arse in the shower and get changed. We're leaving in thirty minutes."

Sherlock uncrosses his legs and furrows his brow, rising from the chair and popping into the kitchen for a biscuit. "I just told you I'm not going."

"What reason could there possibly be for you not to attend this wedding? You're impossible you know that? You can't just-" John is at a loss for words, his frustration with Sherlock reaching a peak. He sighs and looks his friend dead in the eyes. "If you don't go, Molly will be heartbroken. You know that right?"

"Wrong," Sherlock states calmly. "Molly will, in fact, be much more at ease without my presence."

"Oh, is that a fact?" John asks sarcastically.

"Yes, it is," Sherlock replies, blinking obliviously in response to John's mocking tone.

"Molly invited us, Sherlock. She wants us there," Doctor Watson insists. "Now I don't know what's going on in that bloody ridiculous head of yours, but don't pin this on her. Now stop being stupid and get ready."

"Isn't it you who's always reminding me to be kinder to Molly? Always pointing out my insensitivity toward her?"

"What's your point?"

"My point is- the greatest gift I could impart on Molly today is my absence. She doesn't want me there," Sherlock reiterates once more for his stubborn friend.

"And why is that?"

"Because she's in love with me!" Sherlock announces as if it were breaking news.

John's eyes widen with pity and realization. "Are you just getting that now?" He asks with a stern expression. "The girl drooled over you for years, Sherlock, and received nothing but emotional abuse in return. And now that she's finally moved on, you're going to once again deny her of your friendship?!"

"That's just it- she hasn't moved on, John."

"Of course she has," Watson retorts. "What are you talking about?"

Sherlock rubs his forehead in distress. "I saw Molly at the lab yesterday. She was helping me with a case and she was more flustered and scatter-brained than usual."

John tenses his jaw, resenting the unkind words spoken against their friend. But Sherlock continues to explain.

"I cut myself on a glass slide, and despite my persistent objections, Molly insisted on sterilizing the incision herself. But as soon as her fingers touched my skin, her pulse skyrocketed, her pupils dilated and her speech became almost incoherent. I haven't seen her that way for years. Not to that extent," he muses as his mind drifts back to the feeling of her cool, small fingers against his flesh.

"Could just be…pre-wedding jitters," John suggests, trying his best to rationalize the situation.

Sherlock cocks his head to the side at the absurdity of his comrade. If Molly were nervous about the wedding, she'd have been pacing and rambling incessantly as she always did when she was stressed. There was simply no other reason for her to react to him physically unless she were still attracted to Sherlock.

John just shakes his head. "You can't seriously think that Molly would go through with the wedding if she were still hung up on you…"

"Not only do I think it, I  _believe_  it, so for Molly's sake, I will not be attending. And anyway, I don't like weddings..."

"You went to my wedding," John points out with confusion.

"Yes, but that was different," Sherlock sighs with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "I approved of Mary. This Tom fellow, well- let's just say, Molly could've done better."

John Hamish Watson narrows his eyes skeptically. Was it possible? No... Could it be that Sherlock was jealous of Molly's future husband? The way the detective averts his eyes tells John everything he needs to know. "My God…" He mutters accusingly. "You're in love with Molly Hooper. That's what this is all about. It makes perfect sense."

"Oh come on. Now who's being ridiculous?" Sherlock fires back.

"Still you," John affirms confidently. "Oh, I should've guessed," he laughs. "Sherlock Holmes doesn't want to confront his feelings, so as usual, avoidance is his weapon of choice. Well not this time, mister. We all have to do things we don't want to do. You are  _going_  to that wedding. You will walk in that church and tell Molly she's lovely and watch her walk down the aisle. You know why? Because it's the right thing to do. To show support for her decision and respect her wishes, no matter how much you may dislike them."

"Oh come on John, you've met the bloke. He's nothing but a pathetic substitute for Molly's attraction toward me."

"Maybe you're right," Watson points out. "Because Molly  _did_ love you Sherlock. But she's smarter than you give her credit for. You're a heartless bastard and she realized that, so she moved on with Tom. And you just can't stand the fact that her affection is now directed at another man. A man you deem as somehow being less worthy than yourself. Oh this is just... I can't believe this!"

" _Somehow_ less worthy?!" Sherlock exclaims, offended. "The man thought Private Bainbridge stabbed himself with a 'meat dagger' if I am not mistaken, which I rarely am. Do you remember that? He's even more of an idiot than the average person."

"Stop," John deplores. "Please just stop."

Mrs. Hudson pops her head in the door just then. "Yoohoo, boys! Are we almost ready? It's about time to-" she stops mid-sentence at the sight of Sherlock. Still in his dressing gown with stubble on his face, stubborn pride in his eyes and completely disheveled hair.

"Yes Mrs. Hudson, I know we have to leave soon, but the world's favorite consulting detective here refuses to cooperate," John says, throwing his friend under the bus.

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes- you go and get dressed and shaven right this instant or I'll have no choice but to evict you!"

Sherlock's eyes widen at the unwarranted threat, and he resists the urge to challenge her, as Mrs. Hudson rarely bluffed.

"Fine," he finally gives in with a huff. "But I'm holding the two of you personally accountable for whatever happens today."

John shrugs in defeat. "How do you do it?" He asks, in awe of his former landlady. "I argue with him for hours and get nowhere, and then you say the word and Sherlock does whatever you want. You, Mrs. Hudson, are a proper miracle worker. And you look very nice as well."

"Oh John stop it," the old woman blushes as he kisses her cheek. She was wearing a pale blue dress and a small matching hat, as blue and white were the colors Molly had chosen for the wedding.

"As much as he might speak down of her, Sherlock always has been a bit of a mama's boy," Mrs. Hudson explains. "I think I remind him of her somehow. He always has been like a son to me. Well, you both have really."

John smiles. "That's very sweet Mrs. H. We appreciate everything that you do for us. But I will never get over the grace with which you are able to handle Sherlock Holmes."

A moment later, the detective re-emerges from his room looking like a totally different person, complete with perfect brown curls, black suit, baby blue shirt and a sapphire tie.

"Oh dear, you look wonderful," Mrs. Hudson declares, clasping her hands together in admiration. "The blue really brings out your eyes."

Sherlock smirks knowingly, but doesn't reply. "Shall we?" he asks, grabbing his coat and heading out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes an unexpected plea, but how will Molly react?

The church is humming with quiet chatter when they arrive, but nothing too excessive thankfully. It was only a moderately sized wedding, after all. Molly's family was quite small and neither she nor Tom had wanted to invite many people outside their small circle of friends.

The photographer is eagerly snapping candid shots as guests make their way into the chapel.

John shakes hands with a gentleman who introduces himself as Tom's best man and as they start making small talk, Sherlock discretely slips away.

Mingling wasn't really his forte, and it certainly wasn't how he wanted to spend his time today. It was about about twenty minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to start, and Sherlock couldn't stand the idea of sitting still for any longer than absolutely necessary, so he roamed the halls until he came upon a door marked "Bride's Room".

He'd seen the bridesmaids outside taking photos together on the lawn, and upon hearing no voices through the door, Sherlock is hopeful that he will find Molly alone.

Taking a deep, thoughtful breath, he raises his hand and knocks.

"Sherlock!" Molly exclaims with surprise, as if he were the last person on Earth she'd expected to see. Her breathing hitches as a light blush rises in her cheeks. "What are you doing in here?" She asks with an undeniable smile in her voice, stepping aside to let him in before closing the door. She was alone, just as he'd thought, and frantically donning the last of her jewelry.

Sherlock grins with indisputable delight at how pleased she is by his presence, knowing the effect he had on her and loving it. "I wanted to see you," he replies calmly, taking a step forward. "It is your big day after all." Another step. "And you look beautiful Molly," he adds with sincerity.

She did look truly stunning in her floor-length chiffon gown. The intricate lace bodice hugged her slim figure as far as her waist and from there layers of material cascaded down to the floor like a delicate waterfall.

A meek "thank you" is all Molly can manage in return to his compliment, embarrassed by Sherlock's unnatural formality.

They gaze into one another's eyes for a time, each of them unsure of what to say to the other.

"H- how's your hand?" Molly asks suddenly, remembering he'd cut himself yesterday.

"It's fine," Sherlock assures her, amused by her concern over such a trivial injury. "Healing up quite nicely thanks to your prompt medical attention."

"That's good."

Sherlock looks around, desperately searching for something to say, because in reality, he wasn't sure why he was even there in the first place. He'd just followed a vague instinct to seek out his friend. His pathologist.  _His_  Molly. "Look, Molly I just wanted to congratulate you," he says offhandedly. "You deserve nothing but the best and I hope you'll be very happy with the life you've chosen." He didn't mean that. He wanted her to be happy of course, but it was a statistical impossibility with that moron of a fiancé.

Molly nods once and bites her lip shyly, looking down at the necklace in her hands.

Sherlock follows her gaze toward the delicate chain. "Would you like some help with that?"

"Oh, umm, yes that'd be lovely," Molly agrees distractedly, handing him the piece of jewelry and turning around so he could put it on her.

She reaches up to push her hair aside, but Sherlock is already doing so. His large hands brush gently across the back of her neck, sending electric shivers coursing through Molly's body. She swallows anxiously, her mouth suddenly very dry. Molly does her best to keep still as he reaches over her shoulder and drapes the piece of jewelry around her collar. She watches silently in the mirror as Sherlock strives to fasten the tiny silver clasp. He had that signature, meticulous look of laser-sharp focus in his eye, even when performing something so mundane. Molly's heart pounds uncontrollably in her chest as a flood of familiar warmth spreads through her.

Sherlock notices, of course. She was practically quaking beneath him. However, he does his best to remain indifferent.

Molly suddenly feels very guilty, as if her body were betraying her on the most important day of her life.  _I'm marrying Tom,_  she reminds herself.  _Not Sherlock. Don't do this. Don't let him get to you..._

"There you are," Sherlock announces- breaking her train of thought. He glances upward and their eyes meet in the mirror as he admires her image. "Now you're perfect."

"Thanks," she practically mouths, unable to produce a sound.

Sherlock places his hands on her shoulders proudly and bends down to kiss her cheek. Molly closes her eyes as his lips meet her skin, slowly leaning into his touch. The detective hesitates before pulling away, unsure what to make of her reaction. Molly opens her eyes and finds Sherlock looking down at her with an openness and curiosity she'd never seen before.

Instinctively and simultaneously, they lean in to each other and Molly twists around until their lips meet. It's a perfect kiss. Hesitant, but also desperate. Slow, but deep. Necessary, but forbidden.

Sherlock takes hold of Molly's waist, pulling her into him securely. It wasn't the first time he'd kissed a woman. But it was the first time he'd kissed a woman he genuinely cared about, and it was surprisingly…  _pleasant_. He loses himself in her enticing aroma as Molly reaches up and tugs at his hair with a tormented kind of need. He could feel her rapid heartbeat against his chest, making him ache to please her. He wasn't ready to let her go. If this was going to be their first and last kiss, then the detective was sure as hell going to make it a good one.

Sherlock twists them around and shoves Molly backwards, pinning her firmly against the nearest wall as his lips continue their assault. His tongue begins to explore, ever-so-reluctantly, and Molly involuntarily sighs, too far gone for logical thought to register. All she knew is that she needed him. She wanted him with all her heart.

Both desperate for breath, Sherlock finally leaves her mouth, trailing his lips gingerly along her jawbone and down her neck.

"Sherlock..." Molly exhales with concern, slowly coming out of her daze and realizing what they'd just done. However it was what the detective said next that sent her into a complete emotional tailspin.

"Don't do this," he begs solemnly. "Don't marry Tom."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some drama unfolds in Sherlock's wake. Will Molly call off the wedding?

Molly's body goes completely numb. She can't feel anything. She can't cry. She can't speak. She can't even slap Sherlock across the face like she knew she should… It was as if her mind were trapped in an inert vessel, floating helplessly before the man who'd unknowingly stolen years of her life away- consuming every fiber of her being with his sharp wit, superior intellect and head full of luscious curls. So naturally it takes a moment for the weight of Sherlock's words to sink in. And in the meantime, Molly's head spins uncontrollably.

 _Don't do it. Don't marry Tom,_ his voice echoes hauntingly in her brain.

The detective waits patiently for her response.

"Wh- _what_?!" Molly finally falters in utter disbelief.

"Don't go through with the wedding," Sherlock repeats, only this time it sounded suspiciously like an order. "Call it off."

Molly just stares at him, unblinking and incredulous. "You  _bastard_ ," she exhales with bittersweet revulsion. It was the softness of her tone that shattered Sherlock to the core. So delicate, but so piercingly direct. "You unbelievable bastard."

 _Dammit John_ , Sherlock thinks to himself.  _I knew this was a mistake_.  _I shouldn't be here._

"Five years…" Molly whispers, hissing in a labored breath through her teeth.

"What?" Sherlock inquires softly, unable to make out what she'd said.

"Five years," she repeats. "Five _years_ , Sherlock! That's how long I've loved you… and you wait until  _now_? Until  _this exact moment_  to give me the first glimmer of hope that you might actually care for me?!"

Sherlock stiffens with remorse as he watches Molly's inevitable tears tumble lightly down her face. Admittedly, his timing was not ideal.

"Molly," Sherlock implores, stroking her cheek with his thumb as a gesture of comfort. "I can't let you do this. You have to call it off."

"I can't-" she objects, feebly pushing Sherlock's wrist away in a futile attempt to put some distance between them. "I can't do that to him… I can't do that to Tom," she whines. Sherlock could tell she was trying to convince herself of the words as she spoke them.

"Of course you can- why can't you?" he asks encouragingly. "Where is it written that Molly Hooper doesn't have free will like anybody else?"

"Sherlock, it's more complicated than that!" she insists, thinking of all the time, money, and planning that had gone in to this day. Thinking of the embarrassment if she were to walk out there and tell everyone that she'd changed her mind. The disappointment on her mother's face... it was mortifying to even imagine.

How predictably Molly-esque of her though... determined not to let anyone down, even at the expense of her own happiness.

"But you don't love him," Sherlock states outright, knowing for a fact that it was true. "So why are you doing this?"

"Stop it Sherlock!" Molly cries, with a sudden sternness to her voice. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to deduce me like a victim in one of your stupid cases. This isn't a game!"

"No, I- I know it isn't," he informs her calmly, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. "But you don't really want this, _do_ you?" he asks, hoping with every ounce of his existence that she wouldn't answer in the affirmative. "Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with  _Tom_?"

By the inflection of his voice, Molly knew what he was insinuating. He didn't have to say it.  _Everyone_  knew she was head over heels in love with Sherlock Holmes, including the man himself.

Ashamed of the truth, Molly looks down and shakes her side to side subtly, giving the detective his answer, for better or for worse. She should be mad right now- furiously mad- at the audacity of Sherlock and his incongruous behavior. But it was no use arguing. He could see right through her. In fact he was doing it now- looking at her. Reading her. His pensive blue eyes made her feel exposed in ways she'd never felt before. That's why she loved him. And ironically, that's also why she hated him at times.

Molly takes a defeated breath and collapses into a fit of sobs, sliding down the wall and sinking to the floor.

Sherlock hesitantly crouches before her, taking her head in his hands with great delicacy. "Molly look at me," he says instructs softly. "It's going to be alright."

"I'm a terrible person…" she says with self-deprecation.

"No. No, you're not," Sherlock assures her. "You got it wrong is all. We all get it wrong sometimes. Even me. You're not a terrible person Molly. You're a strong person. A practical person."

"How?" she asks skeptically.

Sherlock smiles at her. "Molly Hooper doesn't wait around for any man. Instead, she takes charge of her own destiny… and I admire her for that," Sherlock says. "Even if the man she chose to marry happens to be a complete and utter foo-"

"Stop it," Molly warns.

"Sorry." Sherlock apologizes in an awkward attempt at politeness.

Just then, there is an enthusiastic tapping at the door. "Molly, it's time," Lestrade's voice puts a chill in the air unlike anything Sherlock had ever experienced. Molly had asked the DI to walk her down the aisle in the absence of her father, to which he'd gladly agreed.

Molly's blood runs cold. "What do I do?" she asks desperately, squeezing Sherlock's hand.

"Leave it to me." He kisses her forehead and strides confidently out the door.

" _Molly_?" Greg calls again, wondering whether he should enter the room at the risk of her being indecent.

Just then, Sherlock bursts through the door energetically.

The look on Lestrade's face is one of surprise and immediate concern. What on Earth was Sherlock doing there and why wasn't Molly responding?

"Don't ask questions." Sherlock orders before Lestrade even has a chance to inquire about the situation. He knows the DI is most receptive to brief statements and commands. "Just try and keep her calm!"

"What?!" Greg calls out in astonishment as the detective runs off toward the chapel.

"The wedding is off," Sherlock informs him promptly. "Stay with Molly and make sure she's okay. I'm going to tell everyone else."

Lestrade is dumbstruck, wondering what could've caused the girl to change her mind.

Stepping into the Bride's Room, Greg finds Molly slumped against the wall, wiping away her tears.

"Hey Molls, are you alright?" he prods gently, breaking Sherlock's first rule. "Is there anything I can do?"

* * *

Meanwhile, inside the church, the organ begins to play and everyone rises.

John, still fuming about Sherlock's last-minute absence, takes a deep breath and smiles in anticipation of Molly walking down the aisle. However nothing could've prepared him for what came next.

Instead of the bride, Sherlock Holmes appears at the back of the church- wide eyed and uncomputing for a moment.

"Oh dear God," Watson mutters under his breath, truly mortified at the sight of his friend. Whatever was happening, it couldn't be good.

Sherlock puts on his best fake smile and holds up his hands in effort to shy away attention as he proceeds down the aisle, but to no avail. All eyes were locked on him.

"Ladies and gentleman..." he loses his train of thought, slightly overwhelmed by the crowd and suddenly reminded of the last time he'd given a speech.  _Stop that!_  his brain urges before becoming any more distracted.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he starts again. "It is my duty as a messenger of the bride to inform you that there will not be a wedding taking place today."

The church echoes with shocked gasps and instantaneous chatter.

John clenches his jaw.  _I'll kill him_ , he thinks with unbearable frustration.  _Whatever he's done, I'll kill him!_

Sherlock glances around, observing his audience rather cluelessly.

 _Not good?_  He wonders, catching sight of Mrs. Hudson, who looked rather frantic.  _Definitely not good,_  Sherlock notes, finding himself surrounded by expressions of disappointment and confusion.

"Everything's fine," he assures the crowd. "She's merely had a change of heart." And with that, Sherlock strides up to the altar where Tom was waiting for his future wife.

 _Jesus Christ, what has he done?_  Watson wonders, slack-jawed.

"Molly doesn't want to marry you," Sherlock announces to the groom casually, loud enough for only the two of them to hear. "She's just overly considerate of your feelings, above her own, and quite frankly, too kind-hearted to admit that you're not right for her."

Tom's eyes practically leap out of his skull in horror.

"Surely you're mistaken," he sputters, in shock.

"Mmm… no." A small, wry smile tugs at the corner of Sherlock's lips at the memory of kissing the bride-to-be just minutes before.

Tom is temporarily rendered mute by the turn of events.

"Well then, now that that's settled, I'll be off!" Sherlock proclaims, perfectly chipper.

"Wait!" someone objects. It was Molly's voice, calling out meekly over the crowd.

Sherlock whirls around in confusion. He hadn't seen her enter through the side door. What was she doing? Had Molly changed her mind again? A slight panic overtakes him at the thought of Molly slipping through his fingers, and back into Tom's arms.

What was happening? Why did he care so much about what this woman did with her life? Such trivial, sentimental things never mattered to him before. But this was Molly.  _His_  Molly… Sherlock makes a mental note to address his atypical possessiveness over her at a later time. He watches intently, masking his concern, as Molly approaches Tom.

"It's true," she admits sheepishly to her fiancé. He could see that she'd been crying. "I can't go through with this Tom. I'm so sorry. It's not that I don't care about you. I do! You were there for me when I really needed someone… but-" she pauses, gathering her thoughts. "I sort of just got swept up in everything without realizing that we're just not right for each other."

"Molly, you don't know what you're saying…"

"I've made up my mind," she interrupts resolutely, placing her engagement ring in his hand.

She turns to leave and is overwhelmed by the sea of judgemental eyes staring at her. She needed to say something. Anything. "I-" Molly begins, her chest constricting.

Sherlock frowns empathetically, sensing her panic as if it were his own.

"I'm so sorry for inconveniencing you all today. Thank you for coming," she manages breathlessly before rushing out of the church in shame.

Sherlock slips out the side door, meeting her outside. He immediately wraps his arms around her, just friendly enough to let her know that he cared. That he was there for her.

"I want to go home," Molly cries into his chest.

"Okay. Alright," he acknowledges, seeing that Lestrade had already hailed a cab and was waiting for them by the curb.

Sherlock leads her to the car, graciously helping her into the backseat without soiling her dress. He begins to step in after her, with every intention of escorting her home. That was the polite thing to do, wasn't it? But Molly holds up her hand in objection.

"I need to be alone, Sherlock. Please."

He hesitates, carefully gauging her emotional state. After a moment's consideration, he decides that if past actions are any indication, Molly is very unlikely to do anything rash. "Very well," he agrees. "I'll be by to check on you later."

The car pulls away and Sherlock turns to find Lestrade glaring at him with disapproval. "You bastard," he jabs accusingly. It takes all his will power and then some not to punch his friend straight in the face.

"Funny, that's exactly what Molly said earlier," Sherlock retorts lightheartedly.

"Yeah well, I don't blame her," Lestrade agrees. "How could you do that to her, Sherlock?  _Why_  would you do that?!"

"Do what? Save her from a disappointing marriage which would inevitably lead up to her being an unhappy single mother struggling with finances and alcoholism? Yes, what  _was_  I thinking?" Sherlock snaps with sarcasm.

"Don't do that," Greg scolds at his ridiculous, unfounded deducting. "You just deprived that girl of a decent life Sherlock."

" _Decent_? 'Decent' is hardly worth living for…"

"You've given her hope for an impossible future!" Lestrade exclaims, trying his best to get through to man standing before him. "You're not the type to settle down mate, and yet you've provided Molly with the delusion that somehow, someday…"

"Someday  _what_?" Sherlock queries ignorantly. And then it hits him.

 _Oh_.

Molly was under the impression that he intended to marry her- or at the very least seriously commit to her in light of his actions today. The incredibly brilliant but incredibly thick consulting detective hadn't considered that. He'd merely been trying to stop Molly from marrying Tom. He hadn't really given much thought to what came next. But marriage?  _Psh_. He'd never given so much as two-seconds consideration to the idea. Sherlock Holmes had found his purpose long ago: solving crimes. He didn't need a "significant other" to complete him as ordinary people did.  _Although_...

"What the devil is going on?!" John demands, joining his friends on the sidewalk as people begin to filter out of the church with uncertainty.

"You don't want to know…" Lestrade assures him with a sigh.

"Don't I?" John replies, his eyes narrowing at Sherlock.

"What?" The detective shrugs, playing dumb.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock deals with the aftermath of his behavior in a surprisingly grown up way. He and Molly have an important conversation.

After being thoroughly scolded by both John and Lestrade, Sherlock spends the next several hours pacing around Baker Street, reflecting on the events of the day in attempt to forge a path of action. He tries writing down his feelings, but can't find any words in existence to appropriately express himself, resulting in the dramatic stabbing of a blank sheet of paper on his mantle.

Shaking his hair with frustration, Sherlock finally decides to head over and make sure Molly is okay.

Every possible course of action flashes through his mind during the cab ride, and he hasn't the faintest idea which of them is "right". Sherlock can't stand not knowing- especially when the matter at hand involves his own life.

After climbing out of the taxi with great effort, Sherlock hesitates on Molly's front porch, still unsure of what exactly he was going to say.  _Be kind_. First and foremost he was there to check on her well-being.

The detective straightens his shoulders and knocks. He doesn't have to wait long for an answer, yet the moment seems to drag out for an eternity as he wonders what Molly is doing. Was she lounged in front of the telly, drowning out her sorrows in ice cream, or curled up in bed, ignoring the bombardment of persistent phone calls from distant relatives, wondering what was going on?

Molly opens the door slowly, and Sherlock is surprised to see that she is still in her gown. Her face is damp and swollen from crying, but she has a full glass of wine in her left hand to help take the edge off.

"Hello Sherlock," she greets timidly.

"Hi Molly," he replies with a sympathetic smile. "May I come in?"

She steps aside without delay, inviting him in without so much as a word.

Her flat is warm, causing Sherlock to pause and remove his coat and scarf, hanging them on the hook in the entryway. He turns back to Molly attentively. "Are you alright?" he asks with candor.

"Ughhh," Molly sighs disgruntledly. "If one more person asks me that today, I swear…"

He could tell she was on edge, desperately trying to hold herself together. She was rather transparent in that respect.  _Be gentle_ , he reminds himself, knowing he would need to exercise extreme patience with her this evening.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but this is  _me_  asking, Molly," he emphasizes the pronoun. "You don't have to put on an act. Now,  _are you okay_?"

She takes a sip of her wine, avoiding the question and shrugging apathetically as she swallows. The flavor was a bit bitter for her taste, but somehow it felt like an appropriate personification of her emotions.

"Molly, look I just- I want to say that I'm sorry," Sherlock admits, filling the silence between them as she distractedly contemplates the tang of wine on her tongue.

Molly looks up at him curiously, meeting his attentive blue-green eyes.  _A seemingly genuine apology from Sherlock Holmes?_ That takes her by surprise. She feels quite vulnerable suddenly. Like a snail roaming through a garden without its shell. Sherlock often had that effect on her.

"Apologize for what, Sherlock? Seeing the truth when no one else could? That's hardly newsworthy," she points out, doing her best not to fall apart before him.

"No," he corrects authoritatively. "For hurting you." He looks down with contrition. "I seem to do that quite a lot. And I don't mean to..."

Molly inhales deeply. "I know you don't," she assures him. And it's true. Sherlock didn't wake up every morning with the intention of hurting those around him. His general insensitivity was a side effect of his ability to see things beyond the scope of the normal human experience.

Sherlock's attentive gaze bores into her mercilessly as he steps closer to Molly. He swiftly transfers her drink to the nearest flat surface before taking her face in his hands. Captivated by the simultaneous innocence and intimacy of the gesture, Molly is immediately comforted as Sherlock strokes her cheeks consolingly.

"Molly, it has come to my attention that my actions today may have implied certain...  _intentions_  moving forward," he clears his throat uneasily, removing his hands from her face. "That is-"

"Relax Sherlock," Molly interrupts, knowing what he trying to say, and sparing him the discomfort of actually having to say it. "It's fine," she assures him with an unconvincing smile.

"No, it's not fine," he acknowledges, struggling to come to terms with his own behavior. "I've interfered with the course of your life and-"

"-and I'm glad you did!" Molly finishes with an uncomfortable, albeit slightly delirious laugh. "But I'm a big girl, Sherlock. I'm fully aware of what I sacrificed today, and I don't expect anything from you in recompense. I know you..." she grins foolishly at herself. "I know you don't  _want_  the things most people want. And I can't criticize you for being the way you are because  _I love yo_ u the way you are!"

Sherlock's breath catches ever so slightly at the way those three little words fall so effortlessly from her lips.

Molly has a similar realization, at once overwhelmed and relieved at having finally admitted it out loud. "I love you, Sherlock," she repeats with desperation. After all, she had nothing to lose. "I- I don't know what that means to you, or if it means anything at all. But I am done pretending like it isn't true."

Sherlock is overcome with a paralyzing stillness; his mind blank and his body unmoving as he attempts to comprehend Molly's confession.

She  _loved_ him.

He'd always been aware of her infatuation on the outermost periphery of his consciousness, but clearly he'd underestimated the depth of her sentimental attachment.

_How?_

_Why?_

_What did it even mean to "love" someone?!_

Love was a relative term. An imaginary force which bound people together. An unquantifiable currency earned through trust and affection.

What had Sherlock Holmes done to deserve this woman's admiration?

 _Nothing_ , that's what.

It was simply too much to fathom, which causes the detective's sensory nervous system to all but shut down as he gazes into the distance blankly.

"Iuh-" He lacks the ability to even form articulate sounds, much less coherent thoughts.

Molly smiles, admittedly amused by his reaction as she recalls what John had once described as Sherlock's "buffering mode".

Clearly she had caught him off-guard as much as she'd surprised herself. It was a lot to take in, and it bad been a very long day for the both of them. Molly doesn't want to pressure him into a hollow and formulaic response. On the off chance that Sherlock Holmes ever admitted to having feelings for her, she needed him to do it on his own terms. And so Molly takes it upon herself to get his attention and redirect the conversation.

"Sherlock… Sherlock!" she calls out, shaking his arm lightly in effort to jolt him out of whatever trance he had entered.

"Wha-!" he gasps suddenly at the unexpected physical contact.

"I'm sorry," Molly apologizes, both for startling him as well as overwhelming him. "I shouldn't have said that," she admits, realizing it may have been too much too soon.

"No…" Sherlock counters absently, his breathing ragged. "It's… fine."

_Fine?_

Molly's heart sinks. She knew she shouldn't have gotten her hopes up, but was that really the best he could do?

If Sherlock seemed detached however, it was only because his thoughts were racing miles ahead, in search of an appropriate, or rather,  _genuine_  response.

"I know you don't feel that way about me," Molly interjects, desperate to fill the lingering silence. "I just-" she loses her train of thought as Sherlock abruptly snatches her wrist and meets her eyes with an unusual kind of hyper-attentiveness. He furrows his brow as he looks at her, fully invested in the moment in a way she had never quite seen him before.

"Have I ever  _said that_ , Molly?" he queries, unsmiling in response to her outburst.

"Well, erm, no…" she confesses awkwardly. "But-"

"-Then don't put words in my mouth," Sherlock orders firmly.

Molly is both stunned and a bit turned on by the sternness with which he addresses her. She blushes immediately, ashamed of her schoolgirlish reaction.

"Molly," Sherlock speaks her name with a newfound gentility, having finally collected his thoughts. "As you well know, relationships aren't really my… area." He pauses, swallowing his pride as he admits his lack of competence. "I don't fully appreciate or actively seek out human connection as a vital constituent of my existence. However that doesn't mean that I do not  _feel_  things," the detective continues, tentatively entwining his fingers in hers. "I care for you in a way that is different from anything in my experience, so if I seem wary or uncomprehending, it is only because I have no precedent to call upon,  _not_ because I am uninterested in the possibility of moving forward with you."

He brings her hand to his face, resting it against his cheek possessively.

Molly's insides twist and contort, unable to believe her ears. She wanted to throw herself in his arms then and there, but something about the intensity of his gaze also made her want to crawl under a rock. Sherlock could see through her like no one else in the world. He probably knew exactly what she was thinking right now.  _Oh god_. Molly feels her anxiety creeping up on her like a shadow over her shoulder.  _Stay calm, stay calm. Breathe._

"So, what does that mean?" she asks hesitantly. "What is it that you…  _want_?"

"I don't know," Sherlock answers quickly and honestly.

While such a response probably should've warranted concern, Molly is overcome with a sense of warmth and reassurance.

The man who knew everything didn't have an answer. And the uncertainty of it all must be driving him mad with curiosity...

"I don't know what happens now," Sherlock reaffirms with a sigh. He releases Molly's hand and begins trailing his fingers slowly and thoughtfully up her arm. "But I've been thinking about this all day and the truth is… I can't seem to imagine a future for myself without you in it in some capacity."

Molly bites her lip self-consciously, fearful that she may start grinning like a bloody fool.

"Neither can I," she confesses in a strained whisper. Sherlock strokes her hair once, analyzing its silken texture beneath his fingers.

"I'll spare us both the grief of making promises that I don't intend to keep," he continues. "I can't give you an ordinary life, Molly. You know that. But if you give me time, I can try- in my own way-" he swallows with nervous contemplation, "to show you that I love you."

Molly can stand it no longer. She throws her arms around his neck and pulls Sherlock down to her level where she meets him with a jubilant kiss. She needed him. In that moment, she needed him like she needed air. Molly felt as though if she let go of him, that she might very well disappear from existence. Her life was now inexorably intertwined with Sherlock Holmes'.

The detective may have been inexperienced with the details of human intimacy, but as was true with everything else he put his mind to, Sherlock was a quick learner.

He is deliberately coy at first- not resistant, but also not overly zealous in response to Molly's kiss. There is an unexpected serenity in their closeness however, and Sherlock notes the soft, pliable texture of Molly's lips against his own. It's only when he feels her hesitate that the detective takes it upon himself to truly reciprocate the gesture.

He slips one hand around her waist and the other behind her neck, tilting his head to deepen the kiss in the process. Molly tenses and then proceeds to dissolve willfully into his firm embrace. She whimpers involuntarily as he parts her lips with his tongue.

Sherlock smiles, ever-so-slightly against her mouth as he catalogues her physiological responses for future reference. Perhaps a relationship could be fun after all.

Gradually, Sherlock softens his hold, breaking away to catch his breath. They stare into one another's eyes for a time, perfectly content until Molly notices a subtle shift in his expression.

"What is it?" she asks, barely getting the question out before he eagerly interrupts.

"Come here," Sherlock beckons, taking hold of Molly's hand and dragging her toward the front door.

"What, why?" she panics. "I'm not leaving this house Sherlock, and not even you can change my mind about that!" she assures him confidently.

"For God's sake Molly, would you just trust me?" he replies, feigning exasperation as he swings the door open and pulls her out onto the porch.

Molly squeals in surprise, finding herself unexpectedly scooped up in Sherlock's arms. "Wh- what are you doing?!" she asks, instinctively winding an arm around his neck for security.

"I may have deprived you of the ceremony and reception, but it seems a shame not to indulge in some form of tradition on your wedding night," he replies, turning around and carrying her promptly over the threshold. Once inside, Sherlock sets her feet back on the ground delicately without ever tearing his eyes away from hers.

Molly is heart-warmed by the uncharacteristically sweet gesture.  _Maybe Sherlock really is capable of love after all…_

"Thank you," she blurts out suddenly. "For stopping me, I mean. This day could've gone very differently..."

"It wasn't an entirely selfless act," Sherlock retorts with a knowing smile. "But you're welcome. And I should probably be going," he announces, much to Molly's dismay. "John will be wondering where I am..."

She didn't want him to leave. Not now. Not after all they'd been through to get to this moment.

"Right, of course." Molly agrees stupidly as he gathers his coat and scarf. "Well, goodnight."

Sherlock leans down and gives her one final peck on the cheek. "Goodnight Molly," he says contently before heading out the door.

"Sherlock, wait!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of those reading! I absolutely adore writing Sherlock as a character. He's so frustratingly charming. Let me know what you think. More to come.


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